


By The Book

by icarusmoon



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Series: Trollhunters (Tales of Arcadia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28374486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusmoon/pseuds/icarusmoon
Summary: He’s not sure why he is so determined to do this on his own—he knows that most kids his age would be frantically Googling by now—but he’s desperate to understand. He wants it to click. He understands recipes and bike kits. He’s even starting to understand Trollhunting. There are rules to follow and rules to break. Every part leads to something tangible: a meal. A bicycle. A battle with a troll. It all leads to something that makes sense.(Or: Jim learns about cooking, bikes, and Shakespeare.)
Relationships: Barbara Lake & Jim Lake Jr., Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez, Toby Domzalski & Jim Lake Jr.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	By The Book

Jim doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that Mom is crying and his dad is gone and the bike—his first bike, the one they were dreaming about, the one they were supposed to build _together_ —is left in pieces.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he just stares at all the bike pieces scattered across the garage floor. 

He wants his bike, and he wants to celebrate his birthday like a normal kid. He wants his dad back. He wants broken things to be made whole.

He tries. He _tries_ to build the bike on his own, but he’s still learning how to read and the instructions are incomprehensible. The pictures don’t help, either. It’s all hopeless and his dad is gone and he’s stupidstupid _stupid._

His dad is gone.

“Jim?”

Jim looks up from his unfinished bike. Mom’s standing in the doorway. She sniffles and wipes away her tears, as though everything is suddenly back to normal. “Jim, sweetie. Do you want some cake?” 

“No thanks.”

“We’ve still got the box of Funfetti. We can bake it together.”

He’s not sure if Mom is offering for his sake, or for hers. But he accepts, because he knows neither of them want to be alone. He knows he wants a birthday cake. He knows there are birthday candles in their kitchen drawer, and he knows what he is going to wish for. 

He likes baking, he realizes. With Mom’s help, the recipe is much easier to read than the bike kit instructions. He feels a little less lost with each step. 

Later, after they’ve smothered the cake with frosting and added extra birthday candles (“Just for fun,” his mom says. “You’re already growing up too fast!”), Mom tells him it’s the best cake she’s ever had.

“Jim, this is _delicious_. You’re going to be an amazing chef one day.” 

He laughs and stuffs his face with more cake. “You helped too, Mom.”

Mom shakes her head. “Only a little. You’re my hero, Jim. Happy birthday.” 

* * *

Despite everything, Jim still loves bikes. As much as it hurts, as much as he can’t bring himself to learn how to ride one, he can’t help but be fascinated by them. He loves each shiny metal piece. He loves how fast they go. He loves the idea of fixing them until they look brand-new. 

Sometimes they walk past the bicycle shop in town, and he stares at all the bikes and motorcycles in the window, his chest aching with the prospect of adventure and the world outside Arcadia. 

One day, Jim’s gaze lands on a bright red Vespa. It’s even better than a bike. The Vespa is the coolest, most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s all he can do to not beg for one in the middle of the street. 

Of course, Mom knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

“You’re not old enough for that kind of scooter, kiddo. Let’s master the bike first, okay?”

She comes to a halt, horrified by what she’s said. 

“Jim, I—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” he says. As soon as he speaks the words, he knows they’re true. “Really.”

When they get home, he heads straight for the garage. 

The finished bike isn’t perfect. It’s not like it’s a Vespa, and it’s barely the right size to support him. It has been sitting in the garage for years, after all. 

But he built it, and it’s his.

His very first bike.

* * *

Jim doesn’t get Shakespeare.

“He makes no sense, Tobes,” he says irritably, tossing the script to the other side of his room. “Why does ‘wherefore’ mean ‘why’? Just say ‘why!’ _Ugh_.” 

He collapses on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Toby grabs it and leafs through the pages, squinting at the lines Jim has highlighted in blue. “Heeeey, you get to kiss Claire in one scene! Nice one, Jimbo.” 

“What’s the point of kissing her if I don’t even know what I’m _saying?_ ” 

“Who cares?”

“ _I_ care!”

“Just use Sparknotes!” Toby says, clearly exasperated. “It’s how I passed English last year! You think I actually read _The Scarlet Letter?_ Psh.”

Jim scowls. He’s not sure why he is so determined to do this on his own—he knows that most kids his age would be frantically Googling by now—but he’s desperate to understand. He wants it to _click_ . He understands recipes and bike kits. He’s even starting to understand Trollhunting. There are rules to follow and rules to break. Every part leads to something tangible: a meal. A bicycle. A battle with a troll. It all leads to something that makes _sense_. 

He just wants to deserve the part he stumbled into. 

“Claire sees this great actor,” Jim says slowly. He blinks up at his ceiling and sighs. “But what if I can’t do it? What if...what if she realizes it’s a lie?”

“Maybe it’s not a lie, Jimbo. You’re the Trollhunter. How bad can Shakespeare be?”

* * *

Fortunately, Claire offers to run lines with Jim after school. 

He has to remind himself to not get his hopes up. It’s not like it’s a date, and it doesn’t mean anything. She’s probably asked Steve to run lines with her, too. Ugh. _Steve_.

Claire already has most of her lines memorized. She’s brilliant, and Jim just proves that he should not have been cast in the first place. He falters over his lines and wonders if he should accept defeat and let Steve take the role after all. 

“Claire,” Jim says, “I have no idea what any of this means. How am I supposed to pull this off?”

“It’s easy,” Claire says with a shrug. “Shakespeare’s telling us a story.” 

“Yeah, with poetry and iambic pentameter.” He doesn’t bother to hide his contempt.

“Right. So you have to take the lines and think about how we would say it.” 

Jim looks at her skeptically. 

“Take it one line at a time,” Claire suggests. 

_“‘You kiss by th’ book,’”_ Jim reads out loud. He’s suddenly very aware of Claire’s presence, and he tries not to blush. _Stay cool, Jim,_ he thinks. _“_ Um...is Juliet saying he studied kissing?” 

Claire laughs. “Right. It’s like he studied kissing and he’s really good at it.”

“Ah,” Jim says. He’s definitely blushing now. Toby’s going to have a meltdown when he hears about it. He clears his throat and laughs awkwardly. “Well. That makes sense. Romeo can’t be bad at kissing, can he?” 

Claire giggles. “Not if he wants to woo Juliet.” 

Jim gives another half-hearted laugh. He’s pretty sure he has died and gone to his personal circle of humiliation hell. Then again, dying would probably be better than this. 

“So,” he says, trying to change the subject, “You really like this stuff, huh?”

Claire adjusts one of her hairclips and smiles. “Well...yeah. I’ve always liked Shakespeare.” 

“Really? How come?”

“I found a movie version of Romeo and Juliet on TV when I was little. I was still learning English, and obviously I had no idea what was happening, but it was the first time I remember thinking English sounded...kind of beautiful.” She grins. “And after that, I just started reading everything I could.” 

Jim smiles. He likes this side of Claire. The Claire who fell in love with words that were once frustrating and unintelligable. 

It’s like the first time he built a bike, he realizes. Or the first time he tried cooking dinner. 

“Sometimes...sometimes I think I want to be an actress,” Claire continues. She says it all in a rush, as though it’s embarrassing. He hates that she’s embarrassed, because it feels so _perfect_ , and suddenly his guilt is unbearable. 

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?” 

Claire shrugs again, but he can tell she’s trying not to be too vulnerable.

“I’m...I’m sorry I’m missing so many rehearsals,” Jim says. He hopes she knows he means it. “Things have been...uh. Kinda busy.” 

“It’s just you and your mom at home, isn’t it?”

Jim nods. 

“That sounds hard. I’d probably miss some rehearsals too.”

Clarie’s words are soft and kind, and he feels terrible, because he knows he doesn’t deserve them. He’s busy, sure, and it _is_ just him and his mom, but it’s not the entire truth. “ _I’m the_ Trollhunter! _”_ he wants to yell. “ _It’s the adventure I’ve always wanted but sometimes it’s too much for me to handle and_ that’s _why I’m a terrible Romeo and I hate that I am because I like you—I mean, I_ really _like you, and sometimes I just want to ask you out on a date and be a normal fifteen-year-old!”_

But he can’t tell her any of that, because she’ll think he’s crazy, and the Trollhunting thing is kind of a secret. He swallows and pushes down the temptation to confess everything and wear his heart on his sleeve. “Uh. Yeah. It’s hard sometimes. But I’m used to it, and I love my mom, so…” 

He trails off and looks back at the script. He doesn’t like admitting that it can be hard. It feels like he’s betraying Mom. He doesn’t like thinking about the asshole he once called his dad. 

Claire seems to notice Jim’s discomfort, and he’s grateful when she changes the subject. “Here,” she says hastily. She clears her throat and looks back at her script. “I’ll read for the nurse. _‘Madam, your mother craves a word with you.’”_

_"‘What is her mother?’”_ Jim frowns. “Is he asking who her mother is?”

Claire beams. “That’s right!”

She reads for the nurse again, and Jim carefully studies his next line before speaking. _“‘Is she a Capulet? O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.’”_ He pauses. “Okay, so he asks if Juliet’s a Capulet. And...that’s bad. Because their families hate each other. The Capulets are his foe, right?” 

When he looks back up at Claire, she’s smiling. He grins back at her and keeps going. They dissect each word together, and Claire waits patiently as he scribbles notes in the margins of his script. He’s starting to get it, piece by excruciatingly poetic piece, and it’s exhilarating. 

They make it through two full acts before calling it a night. Jim’s exhausted, but he feels more confident—a little more deserving of all the strange things that have fallen into his lap. 

“Thanks for the help, Claire,” Jim says. He stands in her doorway awkwardly and folds his arms across his chest. “I...I really needed it.”

“You’re going to be a fantastic Romeo, Jim,” Claire says. “I know it. See you tomorrow.” She swoops down and kisses his cheek, as though she has done it a thousand times before. Jim’s heart pounds as he remembers the line they practiced: _You kiss by th’ book._

Jim’s eyes widen and he waggles his fingertips in a feeble attempt at a wave, completely dumbstruck as she heads back inside. “Yeah,” he breathes. “See you.”

It’s not a big deal, Jim tells himself. It was just his cheek. It’s not necessarily a romantic gesture. 

But a few minutes later, he’s still standing on her porch, touching his cheek like a love-struck idiot. 

He thinks he likes Shakespeare after all. 


End file.
